


Uruk-Hai

by DarthFucamus



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, F/F, F/M, Oral, Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Tolkein would cry, Voyeurism, big dick, grima wormtongue is a naughty little perv, orc fucking, orc on elf on elf sex, orc on elf sex, shameless porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 08:19:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10737801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthFucamus/pseuds/DarthFucamus
Summary: Vessa and Imra, two elf maidens under the employ of Saruman the White, help him in waking one of his Uruk-Hai warriors.There is no plot, and this isn't very canon, it's just a thinly-veiled excuse to write shameless Uruk-Hai smut.





	Uruk-Hai

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FancyLadySnackCakes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyLadySnackCakes/gifts).



_“He's waking, sister.”_

_“Oh, but he is a beautiful one, isn't he?”_

_“Yes. Strong.”_

Blue dappled moonlight highlighted the contours of all within the range of the window’s light. The massive Uruk Hai lay in the center of the mud birthing pool, still partially caught in his membranous gestative sac. At the moment he was simply breathing there, half submerged in wet clay, dazed, not an hour since he’d torn his way out of the earthen womb.

Vessa, tall, lithe, and dark of hair, lit a torch on the outward facing wall, and then another, until cold blue moonlight whispers gave way to warm firelight glow. The Uruk winced and threw an arm over his face. It was the first true light that he knew.

“ _Get his blade, Imra. We must do this properly_ ,” Vessa told her younger, softer, fairer companion in the Elven tongue. Imra was frightened and intrigued, momentarily transfixed by the sight of the creature stirring in the center of the rectangular pool. He was clearly male but unlike anything she'd ever seen. Vessa knew the wonder, and still felt it herself sometimes.

Vessa cleared her throat, and Imra tore her eyes away and did as she was told. The blade was wrapped in red velvet and tied like a bundle. She was loathe to touch it, but it was a necessary step of the process.

Vessa moved to the ornate wooden door leading to the rest of the keep and shut it. A thrill of fear coursed through Imra, to be closed in with the creature who was growing more alert by the second. He was now sitting up, watching them both. Each of his breaths were a low growl. Imra trembled, but it was as much from fear as excitement over doing something they shouldn’t have been doing.

Vessa, with her subtle smile, knotted her skirts up to her hips, showing bare thighs. Imra gave her the bundle, and the older one unwrapped it. The blade was coarse, forged deep beneath the earth by orc hands, but Vessa held it without hesitation.

“Uruk-Hai,” Vessa said in confident Common. “You’ve been born to serve Saruman the White. Know you this name?”

The Uruk’s terrible focus was now on Vessa and the blade she held. Fierce yellow eyes peered at her from beneath a heavy overhanging brow, through a curtain of stringy, black hair. His mouth was open and the jagged lower tusks jutted forward.

 _“Saruman,”_ he answered in a voice like thunder. Vessa’s smile grew. Imra, standing behind her, was entranced.

“You will be his blade and his fist. You will drive his enemies to destruction, and you will obey him to your dying breath,” she said, holding the heavy blade before her with one hand on the hilt and the other supporting the rest of it.

The Uruk’s monstrous visage tensed in a terrible grimace, and his breathing became more ragged. His chest swelled with vigor and Imra’s dark eyes caught something stirring beneath the surface of the mud. In truth, her eyes had strayed there almost immediately.

“But first,” Vessa said, with an air of ceremony. “You will be marked, and you will be named.”

She gestured to the Elvish clay pot sitting against the wall beneath one of the windows, and Imra obliged to retrieve it, her heart thrumming a rhythm of fear. She looked to Vessa uncertainly, and then removed the lid.

The Uruk Hai watched them as they together descended into the pool, much like a wolf watches potential prey, with restrained malice and curiosity. Through the sucking mud, they moved toward him, Imra remaining a step behind Vessa, who showed no fear.

 _“Show confidence,”_ Vessa said in their own tongue, sensing the other’s hesitation. The Uruk’s eyes narrowed and darted to their ears, peeking between silken strands.

 _“Elf bitch,”_ he snarled in Black Speech. He surged to his full height, sending rivulets of brown mud cascading down his muscular form. Imra balked and almost dropped the pot of white pigment. Vessa simply squared her shoulders and peered up at him, standing with confidence within reach of his powerful arms.

“ _You will watch your foul tongue, orc, or Saruman will feed you to his wargs_ ,” Vessa snapped her words back to him in Black Speech. Power quivered around her. Nothing like their master’s, but intimidating all the same. The threat alone might not have been enough, but fear, or caution, of magic was almost racially ingrained. And a respect for Saruman was woven into the fabric of the grotesque hybrid Uruk Hai blood, enough that speaking the name caused the creature’s aggression to settle somewhat.

 _“They are born with a hatred of us, sister,”_ Vessa said in their mothertongue to Imra without breaking eyes from the Uruk’s. _“But fear not. We will teach him.”_

Now Imra’s eyes trailed down the orc-man’s body, lighted on the half-swollen sex between his thighs, before moving away to less shameful parts of his anatomy. She quaked through to her core, but more than anything, she wanted to touch him.

“Bend, Uruk, that I may mark you,” Imra commanded in Common. Her voice tremored, and she feared he might not obey.

He tore his eyes from Vessa’s and now drew them down Imra’s body. They were both of them, clothed in the delicate golden chains and white silks of their rank, but instead of the shifts they wore when in the company of their master, they were bare. The creature was male, as were the urges in him upon seeing her female contours. His sex stirred, and now Imra drank in the absurdly thick sight of it with hunger in her eyes.

After he’d looked his fill, he bowed his head and bent his back with ragged breath. Vessa looked on with approval as Imra submerged her hand in the pigment pot.

“I bestow upon you the mark of Saruman the White,” she said, pressing the entirety of her small hand on his chiseled face. “You will bear it with pride as you carry out his will.”

Imra’s shaking hand smeared the fingers slightly, dragged a line over his open lips, but neither he nor Vessa seemed to care. The mark placed, he stood again to his full height, which towered two full heads above the elf maidens. He looked as though he took the honor of Saruman’s mark with gravity and purpose.

Imra carried the vessel back to the edge of the pool.

“I bequeath upon you your blade, and by your hand it will rend asunder enemies of our Dark Lord,” Vessa said, offering the blade to him.

A cinder block fist took it from her, clawed fingers wrapped tight about the hilt. He held it aloft and growled his approval. Vessa stepped back as he tested its feel in his hands, thick muscles corded and bunching as they flexed and stretched and cut the air with a heavy whistle. As it should be, it was as though he’d been born with it.

“Come, Uruk-Hai,” Vessa said with a smile, stepping backwards until she reached the edge. “Now that you are marked and have been given your weapon, you must have a name.”

Imra bit her lip and moved to the fountain of warm, clear water that occupied the far back wall of the birthing room. She stepped inside and it came up to her mid-calf. She rinsed her hands and legs in the water until she was clean.

The massive creature cast off the clinging remnants of his birth sac and strode nakedly toward Vessa with a confident gait that drove her heart into a frenzy. To the core of her wicked soul, she loved that fear.

She exited the pool and her muddy footprints tracked next to Imra’s. As she joined the other in the water, the Uruk followed, the sword he held a violent counterpart to the hardening cock between his legs.

He seemed uncertain about the water, but Vessa gestured, called him hither and he leaned the sword against the wall.

 _“He is a magnificent beast,”_ Vessa spoke in Elvish, in awe as one trunklike leg stepped over the low wall of the pool of water. _“Such raw power.”_

Imra didn’t answer, too occupied was she with staring at him. It wasn’t a small fountain, but his towering shape seemed far too large, as did every other part of him. Vessa took up the washing cloths folded by the side of the fountain, and Imra gathered the oils. All that was below the surface of the flowing water came clean.

Vessa’s delicate hand, greedy to touch him, stretched to his shoulder, tensed on the muscle beneath his skin, and gently pushed down. He seemed confused and did not budge.

Vessa said with a wicked smile, “Kneel in the waters, Uruk, that we may anoint you.”

This, like every other part of the ceremony, was a product of Vessa’s own imagination, loosely based around what was actually done. Usually far less formal, and certainly with no bathing or anointing to speak of, Vessa’s method produced similar enough results that their master never questioned it.

The Uruk Hai did as he was told, but that impression of dangerous energy seemed so close beneath the surface, and his breaths were guttural and deep.

Together they began to wash him. The pigment used to mark them was of such a quality that mere water did not wipe it away. Still, Imra took care as she cleansed his ash-hued face with a cloth, careful to clean around his yellow eyes and thick nose. His lips were soft, she noted, as she brushed them with her fingers. Far more than she would have thought. And being so near such wicked tusks sent a tremor straight to her core.

Vessa was thorough with the rest of him. She savored the feel of his muscles and the hard edges of his torso, and the Uruk Hai seemed unperturbed by the soft ministrations of the elf women. If anything, he seemed to enjoy it. His eyes scarcely left Imra’s face and breasts.

“ _He likes you, sister_ ,” Vessa said in Elvish. “ _He has not stopped looking at you._ ”

Imra’s face burned.

“My name,” he grunted.

 _“What shall we call him?”_ Imra asked, standing beside him, allowed her shaking fingers to touch his face again, this time with a small dab of musky oil that would cover the smell of the birthing sac.

 _“Perhaps… Well-Endowed-One,”_ Vessa smirked from where she knelt before him. Imra tittered behind her hand. With both hands, Vessa took his heavy cock and began to stroke with the cloth, under the pretense of bathing him. His demeanor tensed and his eyes popped open wide. Imra thought he might react with violence, but he didn’t.

“Your name, warrior, shall henceforth be Myrkskog,” Imra said in Common, brushing an index finger over the point of one tusk. Vessa gave her a curious look, as though waiting for the reveal of a joke, but Imra didn’t take it back. A bastardization of the name of her homeland seemed a fitting tribute to the beautiful monstrosity before her. Myrkskog absorbed this with his chin raised, oblivious to the irony.

“My enemies shall know it, and will come to fear it,” he growled through his jagged teeth, clenching his fist. Imra’s hand moved to the swollen bicep and wondered at how little of its circumference she could match with the span of her hand.

“Ah yes, but first, handsome Myrkskog… before you fulfill your destiny of chaos and violence, you will learn of softness.” With this, Vessa slid her hands beneath his cock and cupped his massive balls. Gently she kneaded them while her other hand tightened around his shaft. The Uruk uttered a ragged gasp and his thick brow tightened.

Imra’s mouth was watering. Vessa, far more experienced in things like this, had an expression of wicked delight on her face as she tugged his cock, too large to fit comfortably in her hand, into an ever hardening state.

 _“What if he doesn’t want this?”_ Imra asked, uncertain suddenly, over the small pang of guilt, even as she felt the warmth from inside of her begin to spread to the seam between her upper thighs. Vessa gave a derisive snort and briefly paused in her stroking. Mirkskog’s muscular hips gave an involuntary jerk forward.

“Myrkskog, do you like this? Do you want more of this?” Vessa asked, careful not to move or create any more friction.

“Saruman commands, I obey,” he uttered, coarse.

“No, no, dear one,” Vessa offered a benevolent smile. “In this, and only this, you may choose.”

He breathed through his clenched teeth, and spittle collected around his jutting tusks. His burning eyes turned to Imra. He seemed drawn to her larger breasts and wider hips. She couldn’t help but take pride in his appreciation when so many elf men had scorned her for them.

“I… I want…” he grunted and swallowed, the knob bobbing in his thick neck.

“You want her?” Vessa suggested with a sharp, gratified smile.

His massive, square jaw tensed and he bared his teeth in an animal show of hunger. Imra nearly couldn’t breathe. She was aching with need that had a sharp edge of fear to it. It was a heady combination.

Instead of answering, the massive Uruk Hai reached for her. She feared his sharp, black claws, but he only touched her upper chest with the flat of his hands and fingers. His skin was hot to the touch, and though he was just birthed, rough. Imra held perfectly still as the great palm, the same size as her head, encompassed her breast.

“You must be gentle, warrior,” Vessa warned with a smile. Subtly, she sat back on her heels and backed away, watching with vicarious pleasure as Imra melted against his touch. His mouth was hanging open, now, staring at the soft swell of breast in his hand with shameless desire, the likes of which Imra had not been the subject before. Not with such intensity and… purity of intent.

 _“I’ll tear you in two,”_ he guttered in Black Speech. Though everything sounded threatening and malicious in that language, Imra didn’t think it was a threat, but an expression of wariness. Perhaps, even, of concern.

 _“Guard your strength, Uruk, and your claws. I will take care of the rest,”_ Imra answered in his own language, her voice husky as she formed the forbidden words. She moved before him with her feet on either side of his bended knees, and with his hand still grasping her breast, she looked down upon his monstrous face and began to stroke between her legs.

Vessa, already working herself toward her first peak with her hand just from watching the exchange, sidled beside him where Imra had once stood, and on her knees, started to stroke his enormous cock one-handed. She brushed her hard palm over his cockhead at the end of each upstroke, and swiped the hanging sack of his balls at the end of every downstroke, knowing that her small elf hand was more gentle than he probably wanted.

Myrkskog’s eyes almost glowed with suppressed need. The air seethed through his teeth, and clear, viscous drool dripped from his lower lip. Without thinking, Imra bent forward and planted a tiny kiss on his lip, licking the saliva when it smeared on her face. The utter filthiness of it all was driving her mad.

“ _Vessa, do you think-_ “ she started in Elvish, shaking.

 _“You will never know until you try,”_ Vessa answered throatily, watching as Myrkskog’s massive hand slipped down to the younger elf’s waist, nails biting into the skin with restraint so that it did not break the surface.

When Imra’s hand was webbed with her own sticky, slippery fluid, she wiped it over the Uruk’s cockhead, smearing it around the glistening gland, already moist with precum. Vessa, breathing hard with her own desires, held the massive organ steady at its base, nearly panting as she stoked her fires, held them at bay for the right moment.

When Vessa had first spoken of the debased pleasures she took in secret with some of Saruman’s Uruks, fresh born and impressionable enough that they wouldn’t be as much of a danger, Imra had been intrigued. Vessa was wicked and wise in matters of carnal entertainments, one of the reasons she had been cast out by her own people, Imra knew. Imra, having experienced what Vessa knew and shared between them, was intrigued. The last few weeks had been spent with Vessa preparing her body in such a way as to prevent injury, and the preparations had not be unenjoyable.

But even now as she tilted her hips to align herself with him, Imra had doubts. He was much larger than the implement Vessa had worked inside of her.

The moment her soft, wet folds came into contact with his cockhead, Myrkskog nearly lost his composure. Vessa tightened her grip, dimpling the taut cock skin with her nails in warning.

 _“Easy,”_ she purred in Black Speech. _“Easy, Strong One.”_

Bracing herself on his shoulders, Imra began to sink her weight down. The organ pushed between her lips, stretched her orifice to the point of sweet agony, and Myrkskog growled and shuddered. Obedient, he didn’t move, but Vessa could see his other hand gripping the stone wall of the fountain so hard that it was beginning to crack. She was impressed with his restraint with the considerably more delicate female and mentally tucked this knowledge away for later.

Imra gasped as she sank down another inch. She had not prepared well enough for this. She eased herself up before working down again, aiming to go a little further before the discomfort spurred her to stop.

Vessa, impatient, let go of the Uruk’s cock and, still maintaining a steady rhythm on herself, reached for the sensitive nub between Imra’s lips. She began to tend to it carefully, remembering that the younger female was not as experienced. It was enough that Imra started to pant and whimper.

 _“_ Fucking _do it,”_ Vessa hissed, unable to quell her desire. She spoke the profanity in Common and the rest in Elvish.

Imra’s hips bucked toward the new sensation, and suddenly the pain folded into the ecstasy and she felt herself slide onto Myrkskog’s cock with better ease. One hand still braced on his shoulder, the other lighted on her lower belly where she could feel the intrusive pillar through her abdomen as it filled her.

The Uruk Hai growled, his eyes clenched, jaw jutted, and with a crunch, the stone wall under his hand crumbled to dust and smaller pieces of rock. Vessa’s hand worked furiously on herself, eyes clouded, and with a hoarse moan, she reached her first peak and fell forward on one hand.

Imra didn’t seem to notice Vessa’s absence. With Myrkskog’s hand gripping her soft waist, she began to ride him, taking as much of his length into her as could fit, and pushing down a little harder even then, relishing the pain when he pressed her back wall, and the delicious hunger when he retreated. To his credit, Myrkskog held nearly still, only with a slight tensing of his hips and muscular abdomen when he wanted to thrust.

Watching the sinews of his body tighten with restraint was nearly enough to send Vessa into another peak, but she wanted to hold back and savor it. Violent possibilities flashed through her head, of what would happen should he lose his self control and tear into Imra’s soft body, rutting her literally to pieces, and her eyes rolled back in her head for the evil part of her that almost wanted it to happen.

Imra was taking too long, Vessa decided.

“Myrkskog,” she said in a firm tone. “Hold her still and work into her _carefully_. I wish to take part.”

Both Imra and Myrkskog stopped what they were doing. Adjusting their positions somewhat, Imra hoverd on slightly bent legs, her breaths ragged. The beautiful male creature tested his movements and started to tense and relax his hips, flexing his muscular buttocks as he did so. Vessa’s teeth itched.

When he found an easy rhythm, still so restrained, Vessa crawled forward on hands and knees and, bending down, flicked her tongue between Imra’s folds. The piston of flesh moved smoothly past Imra’s entrance, and she was lost the moment Vessa licked her nub. Myrkskog was too busy concentrating to benefit, but it was no matter.

Imra fisted Vessa’s dark hair as she rasped her hot, wet tongue over her. With the Uruk Hai pumping and caressing her taut inner walls with steady regularity, the heat, and the tightness was mounting much more quickly. She was practically gushing. Vessa knew exactly what to do to satiate her. It was as if she were possessing of a kind of magic that was best experienced in privacy.

Imra came with a keening, plaintive cry. He froze in place as she shuddered and convulsed around his organ. He was sweating, and gasping, eyes darting to Vessa with uncertainty.

Vessa stood and took Imra’s hand in hers, helped her up. The Uruk’s cock when it slipped out looked hard to the point of bursting. Veins ridged its length, and the head was darkened with the sheer amount of blood trapped in it. It looked like agony.

She helped Imra, dazed and grinning, lean against the wall in the fountain as she came down. Her fair skin was flushed, golden hair mussed and disheveled. She was quite pretty like this, Vessa thought. But now it was her turn.

 _“You performed well,”_ she told Myrkskog in Black Speech. The poor Uruk looked all the worse for wear. _“Now you will have your reward.”_

She didn’t need to be eased. She threaded the fingers of one hand through his black hair and pulled it tight. Spreading herself with the other hand, she sank onto his thick shaft with the aid of her intense arousal.

His reaction was instant. His chest swelled and his head was thrown back, exposing his throat in a show of helpless submission that would have gotten him killed among others of his own kind. But as per her prior instructions, he didn’t do anything. She slapped him to attention, and a momentary shadow of rage crossed his features when he looked at her.

 _“Fuck me, you beast,”_ Vessa snarled in his language, the perfect tongue for foul talk. He planted his massive hands on her hips and held her in place.

With a bestial growl, he jerked his sinewy hips into her, jarring her entire body when his cockhead hit the back. Imra was half way to her feet for concern, but Vessa released a throaty laugh and gave her companion a look of feral joy over her shoulder. Myrkskog thrust again, and she felt the pain like a jolt straight to her lower spine and groaned. She caressed his face.

Now, he was in his true form, and Vessa felt the anticipation and the fear swell up inside of her. She wrapped her legs about his thick waist. Without being asked, he raised himself up to his knees. A clawed hand sank into her buttocks while the other circled her thighs and he rammed into her again, with an exhilarating grunt. Held aloft only by his hands and cock, Vessa let herself give in to him, let him control the pace and the depth.

 _“Do as you will,”_ she gasped, accidentally speaking Elvish. _“But try not to kill me.”_

He seemed to get the message. With a roar, he rose to his feet, planted them apart for stability, and began to bounce her entire body on his cock. She felt his nails pierce the skin of her buttocks and the sound she made was somewhere between a sob and a moan.

Imra might have spoken Vessa’s name, but she wasn’t listening. She was exactly where she wanted to be, this was exactly how she wanted it to be. Myrkskog’s hair fell into his face as he fucked her onto him, holding her as though she were as light as a leaf. He was making noises now, throaty snarls and grunts that sounded like wild boars rooting in the forest floor, and Vessa’s eyes rolled back.

She curled forward, upper body limp, and nestled her face against his neck, breathed in the harsh, musky scent of newborn Uruk. His cock churned her insides, filling and emptying her, before shoving back in with such force that she was sure he was bruising her internally.

She sank her teeth into his neck when she crested again.

And then she broke his skin when he wrenched another out of her. Hot, black ichorous blood spurted into her mouth, and she felt the vibrations of his howl tear through her as his cock did. Her sharp nails clawed his back, and in answer, she felt his rake down her back with the biting sting of shallow lashes.

She was now speaking almost without thought, vile words of violence and sex pouring from her tongue in Black Speech that only seemed to drive him more into a frenzy.

She thought she might actually die this time, as another barrage of fire ripped through her, and her throat was ragged and raw with her screams of ecstasy, but Vessa didn’t care.

She didn’t die.

Myrkskog crushed her body between his and a wall. He put his mouth on her shoulder and bit down on the muscle just as his cock burst inside of her. Vessa was out of her mind when he lodged himself as deep into her as he could.

His rock-hard shaft pulsed and throbbed, and cascades of fluid spilled around it, both his and hers.

Still inside of her, he sank to the floor of the fountain, gasping and panting in his growly voice, breath hot against her bare breasts.

“Vessa,” Imra said, clearly horrified. “You’re bleeding…”

Vessa still had her arms draped over the Uruk’s shoulders when she cracked her eyes open at Imra and grinned.

“Don’t… worry about me,” she panted, stroking the back of Myrkskog’s head lovingly. “Oh, you beautiful thing…”

Everything hurt as the post-coital languor retreated. He’d certainly injured her shoulder. A quick glance showed a bite wound that would fester if left untreated, but Vessa was accustomed to caring for wounds and injuries, hers and those of others.

A faint creak drew her eyes to the entrance of the chamber where the wooden door was just barely cracked open.

“Did you like the show, Wormtongue?” she called out, her eyes on the door. Imra flipped around in time to see the cracked door slam shut, no trace of anyone. Hot panic welled up at the thought that their activities had been witnessed, but Vessa didn’t seem the least bit concerned. She laughed breathlessly. “Don’t worry, that sneaky lech won’t say a word.”

Carefully, she pushed back on the Uruk. He was seething between his teeth, staring at her like a piece of meat he’d like to crush between his jaws, but he complied.

His cock slipped out of her, leaving her feel overstretched and empty, but she could see that he was already starting to get hard again. Eager boy.

Ignoring both of them, Vessa splashed the waters of the fountain between her legs, on her back, and shoulder. She washed the black orc blood from her face and hastily combed oils through her hair until she looked more presentable.

When she stood her knees nearly buckled and she uttered a giddy giggle.

It took them some time to clean up all evidence of their activities. But after explaining to Myrkskog that this was not necessarily something he could expect again, Vessa keeping her thoughts otherwise to herself, they had him escorted to the pits far below where he would begin his true training.

The End <3

**Author's Note:**

> Fun bit of trivia, I scoured black metal band names for the Orc's name. Myrkskog is the name of a norwegian black metal band, and it just happens to be the Norwegian translation of Mirkwood.


End file.
